


Destruction

by SinScrivener



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cutting, Depression, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Other, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 13:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinScrivener/pseuds/SinScrivener
Summary: I don't know how to 'read fucking more' on Tumblr, get over itTW TW TW TWSELF HARM-ATTEMPTED SUICIDENot like I've tried it too, Pyro, save you lit the place on fire whilst I just imploded within myselfMine are my legs and yours, your arms





	Destruction

First time, I felt ashamed for what I'd done.

I mean, I deserved to be hurt, don't get me wrong, but… That for what I'd done would have ended my pain too quickly! I needed to suffer for being!

Second time, I felt ashamed still for what I'd done. 

But why? I got a long look at it this time, the blade made and used for the deed along my wrists. How in the way I cut into myself wasn't 'clean' as those who've done this a while would say. 

A clean cut made for an easy flow-this was in weird blobs some small, some large!

The third time, I actually saw the layers of skin before I lost it. If one could peel their skin aside and see their blood and bones beneath-

Some say it's done because we need to know we are alive… I'll agree, that's what mine were...I think, not sure I guess as the fourth time brought on that strange….high in my head.

Was THAT alive? The pain after? The scars littered further onward!? Or was it just the blood one saw pumped out of their cuts?

Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth-Counting gets boring, like sheep counting as your told to try and fall asleep. Who wants to count sheep? Who wants to count backwards? Your mind thinks whilst doing these things, ever keeping it awake!

So, I lost count. Stitch after stitch picked into my arms. Nails removed from my fingers so they couldn't be used, teeth ground down perfectly flat so I couldn't gnaw myself a mark to pick at, my room made safe-I guess, yet found ways to hurt myself still.

That feeling...that wweeeird...high-The pain only lasted so long before THAT feeling came and IT brought just...silence!

No voices, memories, feelings! It lasted shit for me but STILL!!!!

One Doctor seems really to care and is always there when I awaken or when I'm returned to the Ward for my mystical self harming attempts.

Some say we're cowards for doing this to ourselves, this man, not a Doctor as he's shared with me for some reason, maybe to assure me I wasn't being tested or something, he says that's false!

He says we're hurting and in ways to show we're alive or here on this Earth, we hurt ourselves instead of bodily hurting others, our pain to others, he puts, is his fatherly love for me and being unable to help, he himself, feeling helpless, sad, and angry he can't help me right, stop my desire for that high feeling of nothingness. 

He's kind, older, but kind, Mothering really-he's also so upbeat, eyes lighting up when mine open again after an attempt. A warm hand upon my cold wrapped one, a smile upon lips that spoke nice things to me instead of harsh and angry words of, 'coward,' 'sick,' 'fucked up,' 'useless,' worse and more sometimes not even spoken by human forms but voices and ghosts in my head or around me!

Once he'd begun to show up and talk with me, I began feeling ashamed each time I cut deep enough and stared blankly at my wrists, so often now sewn closed I just pick the stitch marks enough and it opens up.

I didn't mean to hurt him in my hurting myself…. He said he understood but knew deep down, as so did he, that he was clueless, he didn't understand though that I WAS sorry, but also...not… That I didn't mean to hurt myself but DID too!

He's gone now…

He wasn't here one of my attempts-The monsters told me he left me, like everyone else has or will, that he hated me, was gone!

The burning inside made what I did to myself before ineffective-That was too slow, it would keep me alive but not hurt, not anymore.

Somehow, I got him to leave…

To hate me, my sorrys on overused ears at that point that he grew tired and left!

So-

Confiscated items were easy to find when one wasn't being watched. I wasn't one of THOSE so why bother?

I found my objects not far from the medical ward, smiled, closed the utility closet door, and began.

Busted a can of some kind till it hissed, spraying all over one half of my face as I broke it open but paid no mind. Bit the end of the match in my mouth and let it fly-

I wanted to die, just, not alone-

That high never came, it was sucked from my very lungs as I began to burn-Human nature is a fucked up thing-A last piece of myself forced me out of the closet and upon the floor screaming in agony.

The voices watched as I wrathed in my self given pain, and the last thing I remember one of the ghosts saying before I slipped under from my lack of oxygen was, 'Can't even kill yourself right, what a waste!'

And it was right-I am nothing but a waste, a chicken filled with waste unable to die cause I was ashamed to do so, I hurt whilst living-That was pain enough- 

I deserved no easy relief-


End file.
